Superman: Earth Pi
by DC3.14159265
Summary: A reboot of the Superman legend. The young Kal-El and his baby sister are cast adrift to save them after Krypton's destruction. Separated by a tragic accident, Clark spends the next twenty years searching for her - only to find a soulmate, life-long friends and an arch-nemesis before he and Kara are reunited.
1. Chapter 1

**Written by The-Lady-Isis**

**A/N: So, after swearing I wasn't going to start any new fanfictions … I'm somehow rebooting Superman. But hey, never mind! Enjoy :)  
**

**Superman Earth Pi: Part One**

**Chapter One**

"Daddy, I don't understand," Kal said.

He was trying to sound calm, like his father was, and trying to be brave, because he knew that something really horrible was happening, and that the _reason _Daddy was being so calm was because he didn't want to Kal to be scared. But Kal was scared. He was scared because the ground was shaking and it was dark even though it was supposed to be daytime and Mommy had been crying ever since she'd woken him up that morning. And it was snowing, except the snow was grey and tasted funny. But mostly, he was scared because his sister was crying, and neither one of his parents were tending to her. They weren't even looking at her.

"I've explained it to you, Kal," Jor-El said patiently, his back to his son and fingers tapping all over the keyboard.

Kal went over to his baby sister, hugging her and shushing her as best as he could. It didn't really work. She gurgled for a moment, but he wasn't Mommy, so she started crying again after a minute. With a sigh, Kal put her back in her seat.

"Yeah, but … I didn't understand then either."

"Come here."

Kal stepped forward to his father's side, looking wide-eyed at the holographic, 3D display in front of him. It was a face, but not a face like he'd ever seen before. Jor-El put an arm around his shoulders.

"Kal, this is Brainiac. Do you remember me telling you about him?"

Kal nodded. Daddy had told him about a computer he was designing a few days ago, that he didn't have a name for yet. It was a really clever computer, that could do anything, so to Kal the name had been obvious. And Daddy had said that was what the computer would be called: Brainiac.

"Greetings, Kal-El," Brainiac said.

"Kal, Brainiac is going to fly this ship, look after you and your sister, and he's programmed to take orders from you, okay?"

"From me?" Kal asked. Giving a kid power over a whole ship seemed strange.

"Yes, and from your sister when she grows up enough."

"But- Daddy, where are _you _going to be?"

"I've told you."

"I know you and Mommy can't come with us, but _why_?"

"There might be something we can do here. You and your sister have to go just in case there isn't anything."

"But then won't you -" he cut that sentence off, afraid where it might go.

Jor-El knelt down in front of him, taking his hands. "Kal, you're going to have to be brave. You're going to have to be braver than you've ever been before, but I know you can do it. You're – You're far too young for me to ask this of you, but I know you'll make your mother and I proud. Look after your sister. Protect her and take care of her as best you can. Remember, if you don't know anything, just ask Brainiac, and he'll tell you the answer."

"I am programmed to help and serve you, Kal-El," Brainiac confirmed. Then he looked at Jor-El. "Diagnostics confirm all engines are now fully functional, Jor-El."

A moment later, Lara came in from outside, where she had been working on the hyperdrive. She was wiping her hands on an oily rag, and she was still crying. But not crying the way her daughter was, loudly and for attracting attention. The tears down Lara's cheeks were entirely silent. It made Kal want to cry. She went immediately to the baby, picking her up and pressing kisses to her face.

"Everything's ready," she said, voice wavering.

"You're sure?"

Lara nodded. "Yes. The engines are working perfectly. And the call just came through. We've both been ordered to help with the evacuation of the city."

Jor-El shook his head. "As if that will do any good at all. It won't just be Kandor, it'll be-"

Lara interrupted him, speaking to her son. "Kal, come here, sweetheart." He did so, noting with relief that she wasn't crying anymore. She was smiling, so he did his best to smile back. She hugged him tightly. "You and your sister are the most important things in the universe to me and your father, you know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Mommy."

"And we love you."

"Very, very much," Daddy added.

"I-I know. I love you too."

"And-"

They were interrupted by the ground shaking again. It had been trembling all day, but just faintly, just in the background. Now it was like a sleeping giant was getting up, shucking buildings like they were scales from a fish. It was more than a little bit terrifying—especially since, through the window, Kal could see the roof of the hangar falling in, collapsing into shards and sparks being thrown up when it hit the ground. Above the rumbling, there was the high-pitched wail of sirens, loud enough even to drown out his sister's screaming.

Jor-El grabbed Kal and shoved him, roughly, into a seat, buckling him in tightly. Lara stood up, her face stricken. "But-"

"They have to leave _now_, Lara! If they don't, they won't get far enough in time!"

Nodding, and crying again, Lara secured the baby as tightly as Kal had been strapped in—and he couldn't move his arms or legs—and then kissed her. Then she came to Kal, and kissed him. "Take care of your sister. Be brave."

Jor-El hugged him one last time. "And be strong, Kal."

"I will," Kal promised, even though there were tears falling down his cheeks and even though he really didn't want to be.

"Brainiac, take off. Get as far away from Krypton as possible. Get my children to safety."

"I acknowledge your command, Jor-El."

Then that was it; both his parents were gone, and Kal and his sister were alone. He could no longer see his parents through the viewing port; the ship was taking off, guided by Brainiac and weaving its way through the chunks of falling buildings and chasms that had opened up in the streets. He saw tiny, toy people fall into them, mushroom clouds of orange fire bloom up like awful flowers. Even his sister was silenced by the sight, her small mouth suspended, open in mid-cry. Then the nose of the ship was pointed skyward, and the engines punched into life. Both children were pummelled into their seats by the sudden acceleration, and the sky was darkening. It went from scarlet, to burgundy, to purple and then to deepest black. The fabric of it was pricked with silver points, stars that would have been benign and comforting from the safety of his own bed. Now though, they looked cold and alien. And everything was so quiet. The loudest sound was Kal's own breathing. The baby hadn't started crying again.

The quiet lasted exactly fourteen seconds.

First came the light. From behind them, blue-white illumination overtaking the stars and blotting them out. Kal twisted his head, pointlessly, knowing he couldn't see through the back of the ship but trying anyway. After the light, was the shaking. Chunks of glowing green rock suddenly started shooting past the prow of the ship, moving far faster than they were. They were being impacted from all sides, the ship shunted with the collisions. Then there was a big explosion but he didn't know from where, and _then _something hit him on the head, and everything went dark.

* * *

When he woke up, it was with the biggest headache he'd ever had in his entire life, and it got worse when he opened his eyes. The interior of the ship was now lit with throbbing red lighting, and his sister was once again screaming at the top of her lungs. In front of him was Brainiac's holographic face, who was stubbornly repeating his name in a monotone.

"Kal-El. Kal-El, please return to consciousness."

"I'm awake …" Kal groaned. "What – What happened?"

"The ship was hit by a large piece of meteorite, formally a piece of Krypton."

Kal shook his head, trying to piece together the bits of that which made sense. Only one part did, and it was frightening. "A-a p-piece?"

"The planet's seismic activity climaxed eleven minutes ago, exactly according to Jor-El's calculations, and Krypton was destroyed."

Kal stared at Brainiac. "… say that again?"

"Krypton has been destroyed."

For a moment, he stared between Brainiac, the still-glowing rocks going past the viewing port—slower now—and his sister. Apparently tired out from all the crying, her sobs were starting to subside, but her chubby little arms were outstretched for him, seeking comfort from somewhere. Kal went to her and unbuckled her, picking her up. She was too heavy for him to hold for long, but nothing in the world (or out of it, now) could make him let her go.

"Wh- Who else got away?" he asked Brainiac.

"Scans so far show no other intact escape craft."

"_No one_? What about Mommy and Daddy?"

"It was Jor-El and Lana-El's intention to remain on Krypton for as long as possible, to attempt assistance for other Kryptonian citizens. There is a zero point two per cent chance they have survived."

"Zero-"

His voice failed him again though, and a sob came out instead. It was far too much; any child would be distressed at the loss of their home or their parents; Kal had absolutely no idea how to deal with both at once. For the next ten minutes, he sat on the floor of the ship sobbing, with his sister looking at him quiet, her blue eyes wide and the wisps of her blonde hair messy, just as helpless to do anything. Dimly, he was aware of Brainiac still speaking to him, still asking for his attention, but he simply couldn't give it. Not until the baby's chubby hands reached up to touch his cheeks, clumsily wiping the tears away. He sniffed, then kissed her hands.

"Thanks, sis."

"Kal-El. There is an urgent problem requiring your attention."

He stood, putting his sister back in her chair and strapping her in. "What?"

"The hyperdrive has been rendered offline by impact with a planet meteorite, and the power coupling is seeping fluid into the main engine core."

"What does that mean?"

He swore he heard Brainiac heave an impatient sigh. "We are running out of fuel. We will not be able to go further."

"Where are we?" Kal asked, wiping his nose and trying to think straight. It helped, a bit.

"Approximately fifty light years from the remnants of Krpyton."

"What does that mean?" he asked again.

"It means the nearest planet is called 'Earth', and is the only safe landing site."

"Then land there!"

"It is impossible. The fluid leaking into the main engine core will ignite in three minutes."

"I-ignite?" He knew what that word meant, and he knew it meant something bad, but he couldn't remember exactly what.

"Set on fire. The ship will shortly explode."

"_Explode_?"

"Yes," Brainiac said, not sounding like he cared one way or the other. "I suggest you and your sibling go to the escape pod. I will attempt to divert the flow of fluid and prevent ignition."

Kal grabbed his sister and ran with her out of the cockpit and to the tiny escape pod. It was barely big enough for the two seats crammed in there. He put her into one of them, then strapped her in, then tried for a smile. It seemed to work; at any rate she didn't start crying again. "Don't worry," he said. "I promised I'd look after you."

When he got back to the cockpit, a thought occurred to him. "Brainiac, does Earth have people?"

"Yes. A race called 'humans'."

"Well, what about them?"

"Please clarify."

"If the ship crashes, won't they get hurt?"

A pause. "It is possible."

Kal thought hard. He was a kid. He was small. But Daddy had told him to be strong. And Mommy had told him to be brave. "Brainiac, get my sister out of here."

"There is only one escape pod."

"I-I know. Just do it. Go with her and get her to safety."

"I cannot. Doing so would act against my core programming."

"Daddy said you had to do what I tell you."

"Not at the expense of your safety."

"I'll be fine."

"The probability that you will be 'fine' is not high."

"Get my sister to safety. That's an order."

The words sounded strange on his tongue, but it seemed to work, because Brainiac nodded once. "The escape pod has been jettisoned."

"What? But I-" Kal ran to the viewing port, where he could just see a streak of gold arcing away from the main ship. It was impossible to see the baby inside. "I didn't get to say goodbye …"

"You may attempt to crash-land this ship close to her landing site."

"Let's do that then—I promised Mommy I'd look after her …"

"It is possible you will find her," Brainiac said. "But you must pilot the ship. Please, resume your seat."

Kal did, and the seat detached itself from the floor and floated up to the array of controls. It looked vastly wide, with a hundred different buttons and levers and controls and sliders and suddenly Kal was really wishing he was in that escape pod with his sister. This was a stupid idea. What did he think he could do?

"Put your hands on the steering apparatus," Brainiac instructed, two parallel sticks lighting up blue.

Kal did as he said. The sticks were way too big for his hands, and he couldn't even close his fingers around them. But he was being brave. "Now what?"

"Tilt them forward, and guide the ship towards the planet. Follow the navigation lines on the heads-up display."

Two dotted golden lines appeared on the display, guiding him at the right angle towards Earth. It was very difficult to steer anywhere inside the lines, but he managed it, after a few minutes. It was just like colouring in his holobooks, Kal told himself, it was just like staying inside the lines there. Nothing more difficult or complicated to it. Sort of. It got much more difficult when he hit the atmosphere, and all the shaking came back again, a red, then an orange, then a white-hot glow all around the ship. It hurt to look at the brightness of it.

Then there was a massive bang from the left side of the ship, and the whole thing lurched to the right. "What was _that_?" Kal gasped.

"The port auxiliary engine has been lost. It was damaged in the flight from Krypton."

That sounded terrifying, again, but at this point Kal wasn't listening anymore, or he'd just start crying again, and then the baby would be all on her own and he'd _promised_! All he knew, now, his entire world, existed between those two golden lines, and getting to the bottom of them. _Go, go, go_, he begged the ship. And the ship did seem to respond. Now flying at supersonic speeds above lands he couldn't see, and descending fast whether he wanted to or not, Kal's thoughts turned to landing.

"Begin pulling the levers up and towards you, slowly," Brainiac said.

Kal did so, but the ship didn't slow down, and the nose came up very, very slowly—too slowly, because there was the ground and they were going to hit it and–

For the second time that day, Kal blacked out.

* * *

Warm. And soft. And comfortable. But his head hurt. His eyes were too heavy to open them though, and it didn't seem like there was any reason to, not right away. Obviously it had been a horrible dream—where else could he but in bed?

Then a man spoke. And his voice was deep, kind, not unlike Daddy's … but was definitely not Daddy's voice. And the man wasn't speaking any language that Kal knew. When everything came back in a painful whirl of colour and chaos, Kal shot up, quite ready to burst into tears. Which is exactly what he did. Loud, shocked, terrified tears that brought the two adults running, a man and a woman.

They had kind faces, comforting body language, but unfortunately they were completely alien to Kal—literally. He scrambled away from them both, not knowing what else to do.

The woman caught the man by the arm. "Jonathan, ario. Kiij ar gun, gw'a rwrruduws!"

The man nodded, crouching down a safe distance away. He had blue trousers on, and was wearing a red-checked shirt. His expression was concerned, and he lowered his voice, softened his tone. "Ur'a akeufgr, aib. Qw'ew bir fibba gyer tiy."

"Who – Who are you?" Kal asked. "Do you know where my sister is?"

The man touched his ears, shaking his head regretfully. "U xab'r ybswearabs tiy."

Kal started to calm down a bit. It didn't seem like they were going to hurt him, and it seemed like they had the same problem. He couldn't understand what they were saying, but they were aliens, so it made sense. It also made sense that _they _couldn't understand what _he _was saying.

The woman had left them alone for a moment, but now she came back with a steaming object in her hands, which she held gently out to him. He looked at her, trying to make out whether he could trust her or not. She _looked _nice—nothing like Mommy, but she had blonde hair and some kind of lenses fitted into a wire frame over her blue eyes. She looked like she smiled a lot. He took the object, which turned out to be a cup of some kind. It warmed his hands. He took an experimental sniff. And it smelled nice.

"Ret ur. Tiy seubj ur," the woman said, miming drinking.

After another moment's hesitation, Kal took a sip. It was a bit too hot, but it was sweet and rich and delicious beyond anything he'd ever had before. When he grinned, both the adults smiled back.

The woman pointed to herself. "Martha." Then at the man. "Jonathan." Then she did it again, then gestured at Kal like _he _was supposed to be saying something.

When he didn't, the man gave a soft sigh. "Ur'a bi yaw. Gw siwab'r ybswearabs ya."

The woman cast a slightly annoyed look at him. Kal recognised that look from his parents. Did that mean these people were married, like Mommy and Daddy? He thought so. "Gw qukk," she said. "Vw oaruwbt." She touched her chest again. "Martha."

The man touched his. "Jonathan."

Understanding dawned. Those were their names. He put a hand to his own chest and said clearly, "Kal."

* * *

**A/N: Translations are available for what Martha and Jonathan were saying, but I want to see if anyone can work out what they were saying first. I'll give you a hint, 'a' is the same, but can also mean 's'. **

**Review please! **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I think I managed to reply to them all (after an eternity, I know) and it means a lot that you've stuck with the story.  
**

**Chapter Two**

"_Kent Farm._"

"Hi, Mom, it's me."

His mother's voice through the phone line was joyfully relieved even though it was tinny and faint. "_Clark! Oh, thank goodness you're safe._"

Clark smiled. "Mom, what was going to happen to me?"

"_You're in a warzone, honey. I don't like thinking of you in so much danger_."

"But I'm never _in _danger," he pointed out. "And besides, this is where I need to be. It's where I can do the most good."

"_Oh, I know, I know. But allow me to worry, I'm your mother._"

"Well try not to worry too much, Mom. War's over, illegal diamond trade halted, no more lives will be lost in this part of the world."

"_Well done_," Martha said, lowering her voice, even though at her end there was no one to hear, "_I saw on the news, of course, but how _did _you find them?_"

"I have a source in the UN task force. If you saw the news then you'd know that."

"_That simple, huh?_" Ma Kent asked.

"Well, that's what's going in the article, anyway."

"_And no doubt there was just some lazy CIA operative who'd left the list of suspects lying around?" _

"Oh, come on, Mom—you know a good journalist never reveals their sources," he grinned.

Martha laughed. "_Of course. I look forward to hearing the true story when you get home." _

The payphone beeped, letting him know he had a few more seconds before his credit ran out. "Mom, I gotta go. I'll email you with my flight details when I get a chance. See you on Wednesday."

"_I look forward to it, honey. Take care of yourself._"

"You too. Bye."

He had actually tracked the criminals through the faint traces of carbon from the mines that still clung to their clothing, clean though they were. Then there was the drug trail, the ammunition that he'd managed to track the buyer of … Of course, none of that would have been possible without the unwitting help of the UN special forces HQ personnel. Specifically, the task force's leader. It had been rather a personal coup; Clark Kent had done the research, and Superman had taken the bad guys down.

As for his … _other _mission, there had been nothing new. There never was, he thought, mouth turning down at the corners. Nearly twenty five years, and still no sign of her.

Clark pushed that thought aside, and checked the time. He'd arranged to meet his photographer for dinner in twenty minutes. The hotel restaurant wasn't brilliant, but it was the safest place for foreign journalists to go. Just last week a correspondent from the _Bugle _had been kidnapped and was being held to ransom. Something he needed to fix before he returned to America. No kidnapper would be a problem for Clark if they came for him, of course, but he'd still prefer not to be entangled. Especially not when he flew back to the U.S. in less than a week.

He still had time to have a shower before dinner, so he went back up to his room, undressed and got into the stream of water. It had been a long, hot and dusty week on the road, tracking his quarry through rocky mountains and deserts, and the hot water now was a wonderful luxury. It wasn't until you lived out of a suitcase for three solid years that you really appreciated how wonderful a shower really was. Clark spent a good fifteen of his twenty minutes under the water, and felt more relaxed for it. A good night's sleep and he'd be refreshed and ready to write up his story.

It was as he was putting on his dinner shirt—which was to say, a vaguely clean one—that the knock on the door sounded. It was an unfamiliar, brisk, formal knock. With a slight sense of trepidation, Clark looked through the door. There were two Marines standing outside, both of them unarmed but looking quite determined. _Uh-oh_. He crossed to the window, peering down at the street below. A military armoured car waiting too—he had no doubt it was waiting for him.

The knock sounded again, harder this time. It was followed by, "Mr Kent? Could you open the door please, sir?"

Damn. He did so, making sure his hair was as messy as possible and his glasses weren't askew. "Hello. Can I help you gentlemen?"

"Yes, sir, you can come with us."

"Am I under arrest?"

"No, sir, General Lane would like to see you. We're here to escort you to safely to him at Camp Citadel."

"And if I don't want to see the good general?" Clark asked with a nervous smile.

"Then General Lane will come to you."

"I see. Well then, lead the way."

They walked down the hotel's hallways and stairs with one Marine in front of him, one behind. It did nothing to back up the claims that he was not under arrest. He got curious looks from some of his colleagues, although some also looked indignant at what they perceived as intimidation of the press. Clark didn't feel threatened, exactly, but neither was he lacking a sense of tension about it. Whatever General Lane wanted to see him for, it probably would not be to congratulate him on tracking down the diamond smuggling guerrillas to their hiding place when Lane's military task force had failed. Clark was expecting to have his composure severely tested tonight.

The journey to Camp Citadel was short, and spent in oppressive silence. They drove through the army accommodation, Clark counting at least seventeen different nationalities present, all united under the UN banner. The semi-rigid structure they stopped outside had two flagpoles—one with the United Nations flag, and the other the American flag. The sight of the Stars and Stripes heartened Clark. He had the right to write whatever he wanted, yes, but he also had a right _not_ to write whatever he wanted. He didn't have to say anything that might compromise his 'source'. Maybe he could get out of this without it being messy after all.

His escort got out and held the door open for him, then knocked on the door of the command tent. "Enter."

They both went inside. "Mr Kent to see you, sir."

General Lane closed the file he had been looking at. Possibly Clark had not helped his case by peering at the red-stamped TOP SECRET acorss the top. "Thank you, Lieutenant," Lane said.

The lieutenant saluted, and then left them alone.

"Have a seat, Mr Kent."

He did so, doing his best to give the impression of composed war correspondent, and not guilty wrong-doer. For a moment he had the general surveyed each other. Clark had met the man a few times before, been struck by the air of authority which surrounded him. He supposed it was helpful in a general, but it was entirely unconscious, and Clark admired that. General Lane was well-aware of his responsibilities, but didn't resent them, wasn't weighed down by them. That, combined with the open hearted kindness of his father, had been one of the biggest influences of Superman. Not that either of them knew that: Sam Lane had no idea he'd influenced him, and Jonathan Kent's modesty wouldn't allow him to think it.

After a moment of General Lane staring at him waiting for him to crack, the older man got up and poured himself a cup of coffee. "Want one?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"Long day, I imagine."

"Long week," Clark agreed.

Lane's bullet-grey eyes flicked to his sharply, looking for a reaction aside from his mild tone. The week he'd been referring to had been following a lead out into the African desert and to that diamond mine, somehow sneaking out again—after taking several photos and gathering several eye-witness accounts—before being pursued back to the safe zone. He'd had to take the conventional route, after making sure that _most _of the guerrillas' capacity to shoot or continue exploiting innocent people had been neutralised. Superman had paid them a visit a few days before. Clark Kent just happened to be the lucky son of a bitch who'd followed him.

Of course, _how _Clark Kent had known to follow Superman needed some explanations. Which was why, presumably, General Lane wanted this little tête-á-tête.

"Long week," he nodded. "_Long _week. Well, I can easily understand that. You were lucky to get out alive. I know Marines who would have had trouble. "

Clark sipped at his coffee. "Well, as you say, General, I got lucky."

"Very, I'd say. Almost unbelievably so."

"May I have a little more milk?"

The general pushed the milk jug towards him; Clark poured some into his cup, missing clumsily and spilling the liquid over his fingers and onto his shirt. "Oh, shoot," he muttered. Spotting a pile of paper napkins on the side, he leaned toward them. The hot coffee slopped over the rim of the cup, apparently burning his fingers. "Ow! Damn it …"

General Lane watched him. "You seem a little flustered, Kent."

"Oh, I'm not flustered," Clark answered cheerily, "just a total klutz I'm afraid!" He got up to put the dampened napkin in the trash can, tripping a little on the way.

"So I see," Lane muttered.

Oh good, so he was back to not being a likely candidate for Superman. But still not out of the woods yet. Lane leaned back in his seat, having drunk all his coffee without Clark noticing. "Thing is, Mr Kent, we knew where Bekwame was. And we knew he was the source of the illegal diamonds."

"Really? Then I'm surprised you needed Superman to sort him out."

"We didn't _need _Superman," Lane snapped. "There was a mission planned and prepared to take Bekwame down!"

"But surely you wouldn't argue that by acting as he did, Superman saved lives that would otherwise have been in jeopardy. There were a large number of children being used to work in the mines or being forced to fight."

"I'm not arguing anything. I didn't ask you here to discuss Superman or his lack of jurisdiction-"

_How much jurisdiction do I _need_? _Clark thought indignantly, though he was careful not to let it show on his face.

"-I wanted to talk to you about where you got your information from. No one gets that lucky. Someone told you where to go."

There was silence in the room.

Finally, Lane spoke again. "I'm not interested in your thought processes regarding the huge, stupid and unnecessary risk you took with your life, Kent. What I am interested in is who told you."

Clark gave an easy, if apologetic, smile. "General, you know I can't reveal my-"

"Because there were only a handful of people who knew where those mines were located. The strike team hadn't even been briefed yet. And if I recall, you were one of the reporters who came here, to Camp Citadel, to interview me about the handover of power to the civilian authorities. About ten days ago."

"That's true," Clark said guardedly, aware that the veiled allegations about Superman could well be coming back, "but I'm sure you're aware too that I didn't wander off to anywhere I wasn't supposed to be."

Lane snorted, then said flatly, "Reporters always wander off to places they're not supposed to be. My daughter is one, Kent, I should know."

"I'm not claiming that I wouldn't have done, given the chance. But there were no chances; the schedule was very rigid and there was barely time to go to the bathroom, let alone go rifling through top secret documents."

"But there was _more _than enough time for you to meet your source, who gave you the information," Lane barked.

"I don't have any-"

"Don't give me that bullshit!" Lane snapped. He then took several deep breaths, visibly reining in his temper. "Look, Kent, it's quite simple. There is one of my men who cannot be trusted. I don't know what you used to get the information—bribery, blackmail-"

"Both are completely beneath me," Clark said coldly.

"Then maybe he thought it was doing the right thing; I don't care. The point is, your source could well be induced to sharing information that will endanger lives. And whether you personally would have scruples against using it is irrelevant," he added, seeing Clark about to interrupt, "there are people out there who would. To prevent that happening, I need to know who your source is. It's important."

A short pause followed. The simple truth was that no such source existed. When he had 'been in the bathroom', there had been more than enough time for rifling through top secret documents, for him anyway. He should have played it safe. Should have left it to some other reporter to break the story. But his hunger for a story had temporarily blinded him; he'd followed his own tracks back out to where Bekwame had been and that was that. Of course to the UN, it would look like he'd had a source.

"I'm sorry, General," Clark said finally, hoping his sincerity was coming across, "but I just can't. It's impossible."

"This could be a matter of national security one day."

Clark stood, putting his coffee cup on the desk. "I can promise you one thing, sir. He's a true patriot. You have nothing to worry about on that score."

"Well. I guess we'll see, won't you. Lieutenant!"

The door opened, and the lieutenant came back in. "Sir?"

"Take Mr Kent back to his hotel."

"Yes, sir."

"I can't deny I'm disappointed, Kent," Lane said, "but I can understand a man who sticks to his guns."

Clark offered his hand, and was grateful when the general took it. "Thank you, sir."

"I'm still glad you're leaving the country soon though. Won't be my problem this time next week. Safe flight."

"Thank you, sir."

He still felt a little guilty though, when checking through the walls a moment later, just before they set off. General Lane was now on the bourbon. As the car pulled away, Clark heard him mutter, "Goddamn reporters."

* * *

Fifteen hours was a very slow flight, Clark had decided, one hour and twenty three minutes into it. He knew, logically, that the plane still flew at over five hundred miles an hour, but he could decide to be in a country one moment and then _be _there the next. But still, too many questions would be invited if Clark Kent suddenly appeared in his country of _origin_ without any record of his at any port of entry. He had to do this the hard way. The human way. He had to sit in a tiny, cramped seat surrounded by other people, all of whom were desperately loud: eating, snoring, singing under their breaths, having sex like the couple in the bathroom right now—it was all so noisy. He'd stuck the complementary headphones in and turned the volume up as loud as it would go, but it still didn't particularly work. He thanked God the flight was nearly over. Out of the tiny window he could see the twinkling lights of the east coast of America, instead of the black Atlantic. Although the noise level redoubled (with the addition of all the people down there), Clark felt more relaxed than he had in the past fourteen hours.

_Home,_ he thought, _finally. _

The captain's voice came over the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. Will you all kindly fasten your seatbelts, as we'll be landing at Metropolis International Airport in about twenty minutes. Local time is 22:07, and it's approximately 52 degrees outside. We hope you've had a pleasant flight with Eagle Airlines, and we look forward to seeing you again soon."

The last part was said mechanically, but rote, but Clark didn't mind. He was in too good a mood for it to be spoiled by an unenthusiastic pilot. Twenty minutes later, they'd touched down on terra firma, and then it was just a matter of the forty minutes or so getting through passport control, picking up his bags and heading into arrivals.

"Clark! Over here, son!"

Both parents were standing, waving furiously, waiting for him. It was a struggle, when he reached them, not to pick them both up in a massive hug, but he restrained himself to one normal hug each. "Man, I've missed you both."

"Feeling's mutual, honey, it's been far too long," Martha said, kissing his cheek.

"How's it feel to be back stateside?" Jonathan asked.

"Weird," Clark replied. "Good, but … weird. Been so long on the road that having a permanent home is going to feel odd."

"That's natural," his mother assured. "But give it time. I made some sweet potato pie to help though.'

Clark laughed. "I'm sure that'll do it."

"On that note, the truck's this way," Jonathan said.

They still took another two hours to get back from the airport to Smallville, but compared to the flight, the time flew b, and when they arrived at Kent Farm, Clark found the weirdness had already faded. It was good to be home.

* * *

**A/N: The next chapter so not be nearly so far away, and it will contain Lois' debut. Review please! **


End file.
